


Someplace Safe

by ladygray99



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Community: numb3rs100, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble, Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-08
Updated: 2011-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 12:09:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/pseuds/ladygray99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Get me out,” was all the text said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for numb3rs100. This was meant to be just cabin smut, instead the plot fairy arrived dragging the angst bunny and the epic troll. This wasn’t easy to write on a story or technical level so I’d really like people’s thoughts on it. Thank you.

Someplace Safe (#192 Cabin)

Ian inherited the cabin. He had no plans to get rid of it. He’d puttered around its dark wood rooms when injured or sick. He’d brought friends who were hiding or just needed to get away. Technically it was his only real home, but it had no address and existed on no map. His current guest could probably pinpoint it with a satellite but there was no need.

“Get me out,” was all the text said.

Ian had arrived to Amita shouting, Alan growling and Don throwing around orders that no one was listening to. Ian packed Charlie’s bag and the two of them walked out without a word.

Ian stirred the stove fire. Charlie was asleep. He’d been asleep for almost three days. On the second day he’d run a fever and thrashed with nightmares. Ian only woke him to pour fluids down his throat. He let the fever burn itself out.

There was a noise. Ian turned around. Charlie leaned against the wall of the kitchen, blinking in the dim evening light. “Where are we?” Charlie asked. He’d been asleep when they arrived.

“Someplace safe, out of the way.”

“Oh,” was Charlie’s only reply. He sat on a rough kitchen chair, studied the wood grain of the table.

“Are you hungry?” Ian asked. Charlie shrugged. Ian knew he hadn’t eaten in at least three days, probably more. “I’ll just make some noodles.”

Charlie reached out and ran his fingers along the logs of the cabin’s outer wall. Thick, they were cool in summer, warm in winter.

Charlie closed his eyes. “I killed a man, Ian,” he said softly.

“I know.” Ian had gathered as much from the shouting.

“How do you go back after something like that?”

Ian was many things, but he wasn’t a liar. “You don’t.”  
 

  
Not My Shot (#73 Bullet)

“What happened?” Ian hadn’t stayed long enough to get the story.

“We didn’t think they’d come back for the computers. We sure as hell didn’t think they’d start shooting for the computers.”

“Who?”

“Russians.” Charlie became silent as the stove fire warmed the small kitchen. “It was just me and David. I just needed to get some data.”

“More data is always good.”

Charlie snorted in some sort of amusement. “David gave me his other gun.”

“Since when can you shoot?”

“I learned. That’s what I do, you know? I learn things.” Ian put a pot of water on the stove to boil. Charlie ran his fingers along the table top. “I saw him fall. I saw his chest…erupt. A tiny bullet. I didn’t... I didn’t think it was my bullet. My hands were shaking. I shouldn’t have made the shot. He fell. It was just one bullet.”

“It only takes one bullet,” Ian said carefully.

“It was a perfect shot. One bullet.” Charlie repeated, his fingers still tracing the pattern of wood grain on the table. “We didn’t know. They put David on leave. David swore the shot was his. They pulled a .9mm out of the body. David’s Glock shoots .40s. They brought it upstairs, put it in front of me, asked me if I was sure the shot wasn’t mine.” Charlie looked up at Ian. “My hands were shaking, Ian. I could feel them shake. It couldn’t have been my bullet.”

“It was. You took the shot, it was a good shot, you saved your life, you saved David’s life.” Ian knew this was the standard speech. Charlie had already heard it.

“I killed a man. How do I go back to how I was?”

“You don’t, Charlie. You can’t.”

“It was just one bullet.”

“I know.”  
 

  
Noodles and Eggs (#82 Feast)

Charlie was silent as Ian boiled some noodles. Ian didn’t press him to talk. He put the bowl of noodles and butter in front of Charlie. Charlie stared at them.

“When did you last eat?”

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday.”

Charlie showed no surprise at missing three days. “Last Thursday, lunch, but I threw that up.”

“You need to eat. You’ve been sick.” Charlie shrugged but took a bite. He chewed slowly and took another bite. Ian could see when Charlie’s body overrode his mind. The third bite was barely chewed. The rest of the bowl was inhaled. “Slow down. You’ll make yourself sick.” Charlie gave Ian a sharp look.

Ian pushed his own bowl over. He checked the fridge for something quick. Bacon and Eggs? He just grabbed the eggs. He couldn’t remember if Charlie was kosher; probably not, but after six days of no food bacon would probably make him sick either way. Ian cracked some eggs in a pan then threw in some slices of bread and a couple of tomatoes for vitamins.

Charlie looked at the spread. “No one’s made me fried tomatoes since Susan,” he said with a soft chuckle. Ian gave a questioning shrug. “Ex-girlfriend. She was English.”

“Ah. Eat up.”

Charlie dug in. For a moment the horrors of the previous week buried under a feast of a fry up and the demands of a neglected body.

Ian smiled watching Charlie lick up the last drop of egg from the plate, and buttery toast crumbs from his fingers.

“Feeling better?” Ian asked as he cleared the plates.

Charlie shrugged. “A little. But I shouldn’t.”

“Yes you should. Letting yourself eat is a good first step.”

“Which direction?”

“What?”

“A step in which direction? Where do I go now?”

Ian shrugged. “I don’t know.”  
 

  
Words Carefully Chosen (#42 Words)

Ian tucked Charlie back into bed and slipped into a side room. He flipped some switches and the room hummed to life. It ran on solar in the summer and a little diesel generator in the winter. Ian was not completely technophobic. He’d built this room so he could get a little phone signal off a distant tower even at the bottom of his valley.

He hadn’t contacted anyone while Charlie was still sleeping. He’d wanted to talk to Charlie first but after three days, almost four, he was probably wanted for kidnapping Charlie.

Ian contemplated a quick text message to send to Don.

 _‘Did you really think shouting would help him get through?’_

 _‘You never thought this wouldn’t happen sooner or later?’_

 _‘Be damn thankful he did make the shot, you moron.’_

 _‘He’s not an agent, you moronic asshole. You can’t just give him three days of leave and expect him to drink it out of his system.’_

 _‘He’s an academic. You dragged him out of his ivory tower, stuck him in the line of fire, didn’t you think he might actually shoot back one day like a normal human? What did you think he was going to do, throw a math book at them? You should be thanking the gods of FBI agents he did shoot back or you’d be down one agent and a brother and tell your dad and that shrieking shrew of a girlfriend of his to back off!_ ’

Ian didn’t think those would go down well.

  
 **I’m still with Charlie. He’s OK. Doing better. Mainly been sleeping but got him to eat, talk a little. I’ll bring him home when he’s ready.**

  
So much said, so much unsaid, in just a few words. It should at least buy them a few days of peace.  
 

  
Perfection Lost (#76 Girlfriend)

Charlie pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate, the ravenous huger of the night before gone.

“Amita’s going to leave me. She’s probably left me already. She’s probably packed up her things and is staying with a friend until she can get her own apartment.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian said, though he didn’t necessarily think it was a bad thing.

Charlie shrugged. “She said I’m not the man she fell in love with anymore.”

“Who did she fall in love with?”

“Her math teacher who was cute and had never fired a gun and got squeamish at crime scenes.”

Ian smiled. “I think I remember that guy. He told me he didn’t believe in guns and pouted when I told him he was ten feet off.” Ian had wanted to kiss that pout but he didn’t mention that.

“She wants her cute little absentminded math teacher back,” Charlie continued. “She was a perfect girlfriend for him. She’d have made him a perfect wife, had perfect little genius babies, co-authored perfect little papers.”

“The cute little absentminded math teacher didn’t know what a gunshot sounded like and if I recall didn’t know when to duck and would be very dead by now,” Ian pointed out.

“She’s been trying to be the girlfriend of a man who doesn’t exist anymore.”

“One shot doesn’t change all of who you are.”

“Eighty homicide investigations, over a hundred bodies? Her boyfriend died the first time I spent eight hours analyzing blood splatter, then went out to dinner and ordered a rare steak and didn’t even think about it.” Charlie took a sip of his coffee. “I feel bad for her. She was a good girlfriend. I just wish the man she loved still existed. Could exist.”

“Pieces of him are still there.”

“Not enough of them.”  
 

  
Perspectives on Fluid Dynamics (#62 Steam)

Steam rolled from the bathroom lined in cedar. The water was warmed by pipes running behind the cook stove. It was better than most home systems. The water came out nearly scalding after dinner. Ian shut the door behind him, trapping the warm air.

Charlie looked petite in the giant tub, the steam rising from the water giving him an unreal look. Charlie didn’t look over as Ian put down the spare towels. Ian watched as Charlie waved his hand through columns of steam, the wet warmth beginning to peel a bandage off his arm. Ian let his eyes linger in a way he never allowed himself outside of idle fantasy.

“I used to work in fluid dynamics,” Charlie said, not looking over. “I’d spend all my days thinking about the movement of water in all forms, ice, liquid, steam.”

“Was it interesting?”

“It was lucrative. Four America’s Cup-winning yachts were designed off my calculations. Rich idiots pay good money if you can make their boats go fast.” Charlie trailed a hand through the water the same way he had traced the wood grain on the table. “I should have stuck with it, bought a house on the Mediterranean, built pleasure yachts, speed boats, fucked trophy wives on the beach while their husbands were out jetting around in expensive toys.”

Ian stepped closer to the tub and looked down at Charlie, his legs pulled to his chest. “Would you have been happy?” Charlie waved his hand through the steam as if he could wave away the question. “Would you have been happy?” Ian asked again.

“I wouldn’t be this,” Charlie said, his voice only a tight whisper.

“There’s nothing wrong with what you are.”

Charlie turned to him for the first time since entering.

“I killed a man.”

“I know.”  
 

  
A Question of Blood (#174 Blood)

Ian sat by the side of the tub. He took Charlie’s arm carefully but without asking. The bandage, halfway up his forearm, was wet and half peeled off. Ian peeked beneath it then gave a quick yank. Charlie closed his eyes quickly but made no noise. He didn’t even wince.

Ian examined the cut, held together by tidy stitches that ran across Charlie’s arm. “You’re smart enough to have done it right. Why’d you do this?” Ian asked.

“I calculated how much blood he lost. I calculated it as it was pooling on the floor. I wanted to know what it felt like, that much blood just leaving.”

Ian looked carefully at the wound. It was a little inflamed but not bad. “It doesn’t look infected.”

“I sterilized the knife first.” Charlie looked up at Ian. “I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to know.”

“It was still stupid.” Charlie shrugged. Ian didn’t let his arm go. “How much did you lose?”

“About two units, judging by the rate of flow. Hard to tell, though. I must clot well, I kept having to cut it again.”

“Two units is still a lot.” Charlie should have gotten a transfusion. Ian looked but he didn’t see any signs of needles or IVs on Charlie’s hands or wrists.

“He lost more.” Charlie said flatly.

“He’s dead.”

“And is my life worth more than his?”

Ian was in no mood for philosophy. He killed people for a living and knew the value of a human life. Some weren’t worth the blood in their veins. “Actually, yes.” Charlie still hadn’t tried to remove his arm from Ian’s hands. “Who put in these stitches?” They were tidy but not quite right.

“Colby.”

“Ten bucks says he was an Eagle Scout. I’ll get some fresh bandages.”

  
 

  
Fix It If You Can (#155 Therapy)

Ian dubbed it occupational therapy as he drove Charlie from the front door into the daylight. There was stuff that needed to be done that Ian hadn’t been willing to do while Charlie slept, not wanting him to wake alone in a strange place.

He ushered Charlie up a ladder to the roof, keeping a close eye. It wasn’t that high but high enough.

“Tell me if you get dizzy.”

“I used to climb rocks. What are we doing up here?” Ian handed Charlie a wrench. “The last time I used one of these I almost flooded my own house.”

“Well, it’s time to learn something new. That’s what you do isn’t it?” Charlie turned the wrench around in his hands. “The wind comes down the valley, gets under the solar panels, rattles them loose. Just reach under each panel, find the bolts, tighten them, then brush the stuff off. It’ll get us a bit more power.”

Charlie looked suspicious but crawled down the roof to the first panel. Ian stayed close, checking the connections. Charlie fiddled with the wrench a bit.

“Don and my Dad redid the roof on the house right after Mom died. It didn’t need it. Just woke up one morning and they were on the roof, taking it apart, putting it back together.”

Ian reached under a panel and cleared out a chipmunk nest. “There’s something to be said for fixing things that can be fixed rather than banging your head against things you can’t.”

Charlie remained silent and just slowly worked his way down the row of panels. Ian knew he could do it in half the time, but Charlie was getting better with the wrench and the fresh air and sunshine would be good for him. A second step in the right direction.  
 

  
The Sum of our Tears (#100 Tears)

It took three days of routine. Sleeping, eating, doing chores, no math. Charlie didn’t even ask for a pencil.

Ian woke to a soft sound, expected but out of place. Charlie was sitting up in his small bed clutching his knees. Even in the dark Ian knew much needed tears were falling. Ian lit a candle to see and sat on the edge of the bed. Charlie’s eyes glistened and the flicker of the candle was reflected in the salty drops running down his face.

Ian put down the candle and pulled Charlie close. Charlie didn’t struggle or object, just held tight and sobbed against Ian’s chest. Ian could feel the hot tears pooled in Charlie’s eyes pressing against his skin, Charlie’s small frame heaving in his arms. Ian rocked him gently and stroked Charlie’s hair for what little comfort it gave.

Ian watched the candle burn low, the wax running like the tears.

When the candle was nearly gone Charlie’s breathing began to slow. He looked up at Ian.

“I...” His voice cracked. “I killed a man.” He said it like he had just realized it.

“Yes.” Ian replied softly, not sure what to say.

“I don’t know what to do?”

Ian brushed away a stray tear with his thumb. “You keep going. Go or stop, there’s nothing in between and if you were going to stop you would have done it long before now, so you have to keep going.”

Charlie blinked out a few more tears. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Ian brushed some loose strand of hair from Charlie’s face. “You won’t be.”

Charlie lay back down and Ian lay down with him, holding him close, breathing softly. Charlie began to cry again but Ian had Charlie safe in his arms so didn’t mind.  
 

Change in its own Time (#32 Metamorphosis)

Ian found Charlie standing in front of the small bathroom mirror. Charlie was running his fingertips along his face and neck and across his chest.

“What’s wrong?” Ian asks.

“I don’t feel right.” Charlie held out his hand and curled his fingers like he was doing a medical test on himself. “Every time I move it feels wrong, it feels like my skin isn’t attached right. I keep expecting it to crack open, or fall off, or something.”

Charlie closed his eyes and went back to running his hands across his skin. Reassuring himself it was still attached or something.

Ian swallowed hard and tried to steady his thoughts the same way he steadied his body on the job. “You’re changing, adapting, evolving maybe. It’ll take some time to get used to it.”

Charlie stretched, arching his back. “Everything feels tight. I feel like I need to just peel off my skin.”

“That might get a little messy.”

Charlie laced his fingers deep into his own hair and began pulling on it, his face quickly contorted in pain and frustration.

Ian stepped close and took Charlie’s hands from his hair. “That’s enough.” Charlie collapsed in on himself and leaned back against Ian.

“What am I changing into?”

Ian indulged himself and let a hand run down Charlie’s torso in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “You’re changing into you.”

“I’ve never been good at being me.” Charlie mumbled half to himself. “Never really figured out how to live with myself.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right you, yet.”

Charlie gave a slight chuckle. “I don’t think this new me is going to be an improvement.”

“I don’t know. I think he’ll be strong, I think he’ll know what he wants.”

Charlie blinked. “What if I don’t want anything?”


	2. Chapter 2

Screaming at the Wind (#145 Storm)

The wind blew down the valley, cold from the bare rock above the tree line. It rattled the windows and solar panels and the trees groaned and twisted in protest. Ian had climbed a tree during one of these storms long ago, like John Muir, and clung to the top like a mad thing for hours.

Charlie sat up and listened to the wind. For the first time in days there was a spark to his eyes. There was also a wildness that Ian feared. Charlie got up, put on his shoes, and went out into the storm.

Ian followed Charlie outside. He did not follow Charlie up onto the roof.

Charlie turned to face the gusting, icy wind coming down the valley. Charlie spread his arms wide.

“Come down!” Ian shouted. He wasn’t sure if Charlie wasn’t listening or just couldn’t hear. Quite possibly it was both.

He watched Charlie take a great breath, then another. Charlie opened his mouth and began to scream. The wind tore the scream from his lungs and whipped it away. Charlie screamed again and again, each scream a scream of rage, of grief. A scream against the random forces of the universe that let a man with shaking hands execute a perfect kill.

Charlie screamed against the storm and the storm screamed back, screaming of sun and rock and water and butterflies flapping their wings somewhere.

“Come down.” Ian shouted up again, but it was no use. It was just Charlie and the wind and something primal let loose after days or maybe a lifetime. Ian had no place here. A pinecone blew up the roof to Charlie’s feet. Charlie picked it up and threw it back. Charlie would fight the storm to the end and Ian was willing to give even odds.  
 

And Spring Slips In (#147 Thaw)

Ian dragged Charlie inside. His smiling lips were blue and his skin burned red from the wind. His teeth chattered and his chest heaved drawing in great breaths. He plopped Charlie on the couch.

“Take those off.” He pointed to Charlie’s damp cotton clothes that were wicking away his body heat even inside.

Charlie began to strip. Ian quickly rushed to the closet and pulled out the blanket that covered his bed in winter. It was stuffed with down and lined on both sides with rabbit fur, the result of a mild winter and wet spring that caused the rabbit population of the valley to go berserk a few years before.

Charlie was down to his shorts and his teeth were chattering. Ian quickly wrapped the furs around Charlie, kicking aside the damp clothes.

“Were you trying to get yourself killed out there?” Ian groused as he built up the fire in the fireplace and lit it, thankful that at this time of year everything was still dry and would burn fast and hot.

Charlie chuckled, Ian looked over his shoulder. The chuckle had sounded honest, happy. “No Ian, I don’t think I was.” Charlie’s voice was raw but strong.

“Feeling better then?”

Charlie smiled. It was an odd smile and seemed to flicker between emotions. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Ian sighed and filled the old brass kettle that could hang over the fire on a swinging arm. He hadn’t known what to expect when he answered Charlie’s text. Charlie had called, Charlie needed him and he had come, no thought, no questions asked. “Let’s see about getting something hot in you.” Charlie chuckled again but Ian wasn’t sure why. Charlie held out his bare toes to the growing fire.

“It’s okay. I think I’m starting to thaw out already.”  
 

Some Days It Becomes Real (#5 Fantasy)

Charlie had moved close to the fire, still wrapped in the furs, the fire making his skin glow. Ian tried to keep his distance, tried to behave until Charlie turned and looked at him and held out his hand.

Ian took it and was drawn close. “You have me nearly naked, wrapped in furs, in front of a roaring fire.” Ian swallowed hard. “I’m not as unobservant as people think. And you haven’t exactly been subtle.”

Before Ian could answer Charlie lips met his. They were still and warm. Ian took a breath and Charlie’s lips began to move slowly and softly, kissing him. Ian began to kiss back. Charlie drew away. He shimmied out of his still damp shorts and lay out on the blanket, the fire light making his skin glow. He looked at Ian, eyes dark.

Ian sucked in air. He’d had this fantasy, late at night, in cold crappy motels. His hand had snaked below the sheets thinking of this; picturing Charlie writhing in pleasure, hard in his hand, calling out his name again and again as they moved together. He’d spilled across the wall of tiny shower stalls thinking of Charlie bathed in firelight, hot and tight around his cock. He knew this fantasy painfully well. The white bandage still on Charlie’s arm was the only thing that let him know this was real.

Charlie ran his hand across his own chest, teasing at his own nipples then trailing his fingers low on his belly. Ian was finding it hard to breathe and small tremors laced through his body.

“I’m not sure what I want,” Charlie said, beginning to touch himself. “In the grander scheme of thing. But tonight I want this, I want this one fantasy to be real. Please don’t say no.”

“No.”  
 

Hot, Cold, Damp, Dry (#172 Skin)

Ian straddled Charlie’s prone form and let himself explore. The soft skin on Charlie’s cheeks was hot where it faced the fire and cool where it faced the dark. Ian let his lips slide against first one side, then the other.

The skin of Charlie’s lips was firm, hot, but dry from the icy wind.

Ian tasted the skin of Charlie’s throat with long licks. Charlie moaned and rolled his hips under him. Ian rubbed his thumb across Charlie’s small, tight nipple; silky contrast to the thick chest hair surrounding it.

“Ian.” Charlie breathed his name. Ian smiled into the hollow of Charlie’s throat and let his tongue dance around there. “Want to feel you.” Charlie whispered, his voice still raw from screaming.

Ian peeled off his clothes and lay next to Charlie pressing their bodies together. The smooth, hot skin of Charlie’s cock slid against Ian’s belly.

Ian closed his eyes and tried to regain control. Charlie brushed his fingers along Ian’s face. Even after a week at the cabin they smelled faintly of chalk. Ian sucked those fingers into his mouth, letting his tongue run along academic calluses.

Charlie groaned and threw a leg across Ian’s hip pulling them tight. Ian’s cock slid against the reasonably smooth skin of Charlie’s inner thigh.

“I’m too close, Ian.” Charlie said, a pained wine to his voice.

“Me too.” Ian slid up so his cock aligned with Charlie’s. They both gasped as hot skin met hot skin. Charlie wrapped a hand around the base of their cocks. Ian reached down and laced their fingers together, his other hand weaving into Charlie’s hair.

Ian began to thrust, quick and graceless as a teenaged boy, into their hands. Charlie followed, keeping pace. Ian’s cum hit their skin first.

Charlie came groaning Ian’s name.  
 

Opening Up to Time Wasted (#38 Discovery)

Later they made it to a bed. Ian lit a single candle to illuminate his lover. Each movement between them became slow, considered, calculated. Ian licked his way down Charlie spine savoring the salt sweat. Charlie took his time leaving small nips down Ian’s throat and collarbone, making little hums of approval as Ian gasped and moaned.

Ian lay Charlie on his back and, kneeling between his legs, watched in awe as Charlie opened under his hands. It didn’t take long to find which careful caress made Charlie’s body twist out of control. And which firm strokes drew cries of uninhibited pleasure from his throat.

Charlie’s hips bucked as Ian slid a finger in.

“I’ve wanted to do this so long, Charlie.”

Charlie flashed a smile in the candle light. “You should have said something.”

“I’m a coward.” Ian twisted his finger, slipped in another and found the right spot.

“God, Ian.” Charlie began ridding up and down Ian’s fingers, obviously no stranger to the act. Ian cursed himself for not doing this years ago, for wasting all that time wondering what Charlie was like as a lover instead of taking a step and discovering for himself.

Ian slipped a third finger in. Charlie’s back arched with surprising flexibility.

“Ian, please, God I’m ready.”

Ian kissed Charlie; kissed Charlie and slid in. Charlie was tighter, hotter and more perfect than he imagined. He pressed his forehead to Charlie’s chest not wanting to move, trying to freeze time. He felt Charlie’s hand stoke his head, softly, reassuringly.

Ian moved, trying for the control that usually came so simply. Charlie rolled his hips and moved with him. The fell into sync as if they’d been doing it for a lifetime.

“God, Charlie.” In the candlelight Charlie let go and Ian discovered perfection.  
 

When it’s Only Yourself (#152 Forgiveness)

Charlie touched his finger to the melted wax of the candle, almost gone.

“He had no family we could find. Not here, not in Russia, but I don’t think the Russian authorities looked very hard,” Charlie said softly.

“Those kinds of people often don’t. They’re alone and so do what they do.”

“I wish there was someone I could apologize to.”

Ian pulled Charlie close and his finger away from the flame.

“You did what you had to do.”

“I’m an atheist. I don’t believe in anything beyond this. No redos, no paradise, just this one try. I destroyed something unique that had never happened before and will never happen again.”

Ian sighed against the back of Charlie’s neck. “Unique isn’t the same as valuable. He wasted his one shot. You haven’t.”

“Haven’t I? People keep telling me I’m wasting my genius. I should be solving the great mysteries of the universe.”

“You’re saving those unique lives you value so much.”

Charlie was quiet. Ian had never wrestled with guilt after a fire fight, never sought forgiveness from someone or something but then half the reason the Army trained him in sharp shooting was a psych test that told them Ian wouldn’t be prone to such worries.

“What are you feeling more guilty about, taking a life or saving your own?” Charlie shifted in Ian’s arms and reached for the candle again. Ian stilled his hand. “And if you hadn’t taken the shot, if David had been killed, think of the state you’d be in then, not to mention Don, Colby. The only person tearing you up is you. The only person you can apologize to is you and the only person who can forgive you is you.”

Charlie sighed. “I’m not there yet.”

“I know, but you will be.”  
 

More Words Carefully Chosen (#181 Demands)

Ian went through messages, nearly all of them demanding Charlie’s immediate return. Don was sending a dozen a day. Ian could track Don’s stress levels by how colorful his language was.

The FBI’s demands were a little more politely worded but if Ian happened to know the whereabouts of Doctor Eppes to please get in touch since they can’t close out the shooting until they’ve talked to him once more.

There was a quite amusing message from a Doctor Finch who identified herself as Charlie’s boss and trauma and tenure aside skipping town mid-semester is not really acceptable behavior and if nothing else call because Charlie is the only one who knows how to get the dregs drawer out of the staffroom coffee machine and things are starting to get a little ugly.

There was a message from Larry full of honest worry, offering to get Charlie a room at the monastery if he’d only come home.

Sinclair sent words to pass on. Words of thanks, friendship, worry, but also a thinly veiled threat towards Ian warning him against taking advantage of Charlie while in a vulnerable state. Ian decided he needed to have a talk with Sinclair, who was too perceptive by half.

There was a quick message from Granger reminding Ian to take Charlie’s stitches out. That one only asked to bring Charlie back when he was ready.

Ian replied to Granger first.

  
 **Stitches came out clean. Scaring should be minimal. Good work.**

  
Ian considered again what to tell Don.

 _‘He’s doing much better since we started fucking like bunnies.’_

Ian could suddenly picture Don at his front door with a shotgun.

  
 **He’s doing better. I think he turned a corner last night and is starting to come back to himself. We need another week, maybe two. Ian.**

  
 

Nature Boy (#45 Nature)

Ian pressed Charlie against a tree, broad and strong, and kissed him. Charlie had become restless so it became part of their daily routine; cooking, heating water, chopping wood, then long hikes around the deep wooded valley. There were no set paths here, only game trails Ian had stalked along, skirting icy streams and ancient stones that had tumbled down the valley.

Charlie walked the valley more silently than Ian would have guessed. A mind designed to spot missing figures and build mathematical connections quickly learned to spot hidden tracks and count the valley birds by their calls. Ian loved watching Charlie creep around, nose to the ground, following the bounding path of a rabbit as it was chased by a coyote the night before. He loved it so much, sometimes he had to stop Charlie, push him against a tree and kiss him, or throw him into a patch of soft grass and ravish him, their cries of passion echoing off the valley walls.

Ian tried to hold every minute of it in his mind. Ian knew soon enough Charlie would return to his world of modernity, so he tried to savor this Charlie creeping through the long grass, creeping towards some peace of mind. Charlie, the child of nature, willing to make love under the high noon sun. He knew most would never recognize this Charlie, grass in his hair, a look in his eye that was wild, half mad, and full of passion that there was no need to hide.

A jay peered at them from the branches. Ian hoisted Charlie high against the tree, pressing their bodies together, tight. A breeze cooled their sun-heated skin. Ian’s name slipped from Charlie’s lips and Ian too felt himself begin to creep towards some sort of peace of mind.  
 

Lost and Found (#149 Faith)

“I was thinking this morning.” Charlie said as he set a log to split.

“About?”

“Applying n-dimensional knot theory to organizational dynamics.”

“Oh,” Ian said quietly. It was the first Charlie had spoken of math in weeks. He hadn’t so much as scribbled an equation in the steam on the bathroom mirror. Charlie split the log cleanly. Ian had been surprised at how quickly Charlie’s arms and chest had bulked out and how nimbly he had danced across rushing streams. There was a fighter’s body hidden under the academic.

“One of my doctoral students is using theories of non-Euclidean geometry to attempt to streamline the Internet.”

“I wish her luck.”

“It’s time for me to go home, isn’t it?” Ian’s stomach twisted at the thought, but he knew his desire to keep Charlie in this isolated little valley was just selfish lust. “I mean I should find out if I still have a job. If my students are still speaking to me I’ll need to have office hours every day between now and finals to catch them up.”

“You really want to lock yourself back in the ivory tower?”

Charlie was silent as he reduced a dry log to kindling. “Millie once told me I was raised in the church and preached to the converted. Reason is my faith, Ian. I lost it to emotion, I forgot how to...think. But I’m thinking again now. My mind is beginning to feel like my own again.”

“Just as you were.” Ian bent to gather the wood. Charlie reached out his hand.

“No. I have faith in other things now.”

“Things like..?”

“Things like screaming at the wind.” Charlie laced his fingers into Ian’s hair, drew his head down and kissed him. Ian kissed back and Charlie drew away. “And things like this.”  
 

Living with What You Are (#2 Starting Over)

Charlie sat outside his house. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in?” Ian asked.

“Yeah. Got to face the music myself.” Charlie turned to Ian. “Thank you, Ian.”

“Anytime.”

Charlie fidgeted a little. He knew this part would be hard. “I’ll be on summer break in not too long.”

Ian smiled. “I’ll check my schedule.”

Charlie gave Ian a long deep kiss that he hoped would hold him ‘till then before hopping out of the truck without looking back.

Charlie stood at his door, took a deep breath and quietly stepped over his threshold.

“Donnie?” His dad called out from the other room.

“Hi Dad.” Charlie called out.

Within a moment Charlie was wrapped in his father’s arms. The smell of Alan’s aftershave was almost overpowering after weeks of smelling nothing but wind, rain and trees.

“Are you okay? Let me look at you.”

Charlie stood patiently as his father looked him over. “I’m fine, Dad, really. I just needed some space.”

“You should call your brother.”

“In a minute. How are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. God, Charlie, I’ve been so worried.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stay here. I needed room to deal with things.”

Alan stepped back and looked Charlie over again. “Where have you been?”

Charlie smiled softly. “Someplace safe.”

“Your arm..?”

Charlie pushed up his sleeve. “Hardly noticeable.” Charlie looked around, the place was tidy. “Amita?”

“She’s staying with friends. You just have to call her...”

Charlie shook his head. “No.”

“She didn’t mean...”

“Yes she did, Dad, and she was right, I’m not the man she fell in love with and I never will be again but I think I’ve learned to live with the man I’ve become and will be and I think that’s where I needed to start.”


End file.
